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Crimson Tears

I wrote the below poem at 4am this morning. I wrote rather than cut. I haven’t cut since May 2018. Which is an achievement in itself.

My shiny friend of stainless steel 
Grinning at me with her razor sharp teeth 
Longing to offer me comfort and relief 
That only she can; or so she says.

Crimson tears form at her lips 
As she strokes my arm from right to left
Releasing and relieving pain and pressure 
Like a nosebleed releases and relieves a headache. 

Once again her job is done!
She leaves and wipes the tears from her mouth
Confident in her ability to take away pain
Ready and waiting to take up her position again.

Now enters, her unwelcome friend, Mr Shame
He barges in; cross for missing the action. 
So, he digs his heels in; unpacks his bag
He's in it for the long haul. 

He doesn't want anyone else to see
The power he has over me; he sets up camp.
He wants to prevent me from stopping having crimson tears -
They're pretty and life giving for him you see.

Crimson tears raise him back from the dead 
Something that he is reluctant to give up
He wraps his hand around my mouth
Convincing me to form crimson tears again. 

When will this cycle ever end?
They keep coming back for me, these 'friends',
They come to me in a way that other friends can not - 
Because of safeguarding (them from me), you see.

© Hannah Kirk 2019
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